


Duality

by blooddrool



Series: Sēon [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Again, Dark Will, Happy Ending, M/M, No Smut, POV Hannibal, POV Third Person, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, again !!, hannibal is a fucking drama queen, lots of talking, molly mentioned, unfortunately, will just wants to have an adult conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8679067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blooddrool/pseuds/blooddrool
Summary: “Is this supposed to make me think more quietly?”
“I was hoping it would keep you from thinking altogether, Will,” Hannibal says, speaking right into Will’s sternum, and the fact that he can’t seem to stop saying Will’s name makes Will shiver a little.  Hannibal presses his palms into his soft gut to keep him still.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this can be read by itself, but reading the other fic in the series might help you understand the dynamic i've built.  
> & it's super unbeta'd. like. i barely read it through a second time please keep that in mind. but hey, it's hannibal and will after they've settled into their new lives someplace very far from the united states. after the fall, obviously. there is affection and moodiness and then more affection.  
> genuine criticisms are highly appreciated !!

William walks out of the bathroom the way a dog might walk out of a pet salon, all stretching limbs and fluffed up fur.  His hair is still damp from his shower, but it’s short enough now that it’ll dry in a few minutes — Hannibal misses his curls desperately, but the way his ears stick out just slightly from his head is really quite adorable, so Hannibal has made his peace.

And Will’s curls are about the only thing Hannibal mourns.  This new life they are living has been forged from bone and iron, and Will, bare chested and sporting only a day’s worth of stubble, is everything Hannibal needs — everything Hannibal wants. 

He is terribly, unequivocally, and _completely_ smitten.

Will knows this, of course, awful thing that he is.  Don't have to be an empath to see how hilariously head over heels Hannibal is for him.  You'd probably only have to be _blind_ to miss it.

_And maybe not even then,_ Hannibal thinks, watching Will turn the bathroom light off and yawn.  He stretches his arms above his head and Hannibal is sure he knows _exactly_ what he looks like, clean and warm and slightly pink from his shower.  Cutting his hair ages him backwards about ten years.  Shaving his face does the same.  Dress him up in a loose sweater and tight jeans and he’d start getting carded at bars.  
  
Right now, in these plaid sweatpants hanging off his hips, he looks like a college student.  The pants actually have _holes_ in them, for Christ’s sake.  (The only reason Hannibal doesn't throw them out, besides Will telling him not to, is because, yes, Hannibal likes Will in them.  He likes Will in them _very much_.) 

He’ll never admit it — “Will, please, they are barely holding themselves together.  And they’re _plaid_ .” — but seeing Will so _domesticated_ lights a fire deep in Hannibal’s gut.  Sometimes he even chokes on the smoke of it.

Hannibal had been reading while Will occupied the masterbath, book open in his lap and ankles crossed, but he certainly isn't now, eyes all on Will as the younger man flops down on the duvet beside him.  He smells like Hannibal’s soap.  He smells like _Hannibal_.

Hannibal is staring.  
  
“Read your book, doll,” Will says, and Hannibal will likely never understand the man’s tendency to call him that when he’s lost in thought, but the zing of affection and arousal that jumps down his spine tells him he really doesn’t care.  The scar on Will’s cheek reflects light like the skin is wet, and Hannibal smiles so _fondly_ when he cards his fingers through Will’s damp hair.  He leaves his hand there, on Will’s nape, and scratches at his scalp with every other breath.   
  
And Hannibal _tries_ to read his book.  He really does.  But he is inside Will as much as Will is inside of him; he knows when Will’s heart beats, he knows when his muscles contract and his liver kicks into overdrive, and he knows when Will’s mind is so far out of reach that only Hannibal can draw it back.   
  
He puts his book on the bedside table without marking his page and sits up further.  “Will,” he says, resting a hand on Will’s scarred belly as he gets his knees between the other man’s thighs.   
  
“You’re thinking very loudly, Will.”   
  
Hannibal pushes one of Will’s legs up so it’s bent at the knee, foot flat against the mattress.  When he pushes the other up, Will lets it slide back down flat, and Hannibal says, one more time, “Will,” when he puts the leg back where he wants it.  Will, terrible, stubborn thing that he is, straightens his leg out again, and Hannibal smack’s his thigh for it and-   
  
“Ah, there you are, dear.”   
  
“What are you doing?” Will asks him, looking slightly incredulous and altogether edible.   
  
“I would have thought that’d be obvious.”   
  
“You’re terrible.”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
Will just sighs and lets Hannibal arrange him the way he likes.  He keeps his knees up — “Good boy.” — and rakes his fingers through Hannibal’s hair when he starts to kiss a line down the center of his chest.   
  
“Is this supposed to make me think more quietly?”   
  
“I was hoping it would keep you from thinking altogether, Will,” Hannibal says, speaking right into Will’s sternum, and the fact that he can’t seem to stop saying Will’s name makes Will shiver a little.  Hannibal presses his palms into his soft gut to keep him still.   
  
“What was it that had you drifting so far out, I wonder,” Hannibal says, but he’s only a touch curious.  His cock isn’t hard yet, but it will be, and Hannibal plans to make Will’s stiff as well.  He plans to make Will do all sorts of things.   
  
But then Will says, “Marriage,” and Hannibal stills like a deer hearing a twig snap.   
  
This is not something they talk about often.  This is not something they’ve talked about _at all_ .  Not since Hannibal pulled the wedding band off of Will’s finger and Will had said, “ _I fell with you_ .”  Because Will is a very smart man — _he is inside Will as much as Will is inside of him_ — and he knows that Molly is dangerous.  She is a weapon between them, and, while they have both wielded her in the past, neither have braved her hilt since their fall.   
  
But Hannibal is the one who asked, and Will hadn’t lied to him, which is really quite wonderful.   
  
He sits up, nonetheless, Will’s legs splayed on either side of him.  He rests his elbows on Will’s knees and blinks down at him, “Yours?”   
  
Will actually has the gall to roll his eyes, “Yes _mine_ .  But also ours.”   
  
Hannibal’s nostrils flare the way they only do when he’s building up to _bite_ , scenting blood in the water, “Regretting one and longing for the other?”   
  
And if Will wasn’t awake before, he certainly is now, sitting up without moving his legs so his face is mere inches from Hannibal’s.  His eyes are crystal clear and so very blue, even as his brow furrows and he gets that look about him that means he has half a mind to punch Hannibal in the face.  Hannibal can’t tell whether he is exasperated or upset when he says, “If was going to _regret_ being with you I would have packed up my shit and left your sorry ass months ago-  And I don’t _long_ for anything, Hannibal.”   
  
Hannibal makes a clucking noise like the one Will uses on the dogs to show his disapproval.  If he weren’t so terribly _in love_ , Will would have lost his tongue and half of his teeth by now.  He opens his mouth to say so, but Will cuts him off with a huffing sigh.   
  
“What does marriage mean to you, Hannibal?”   
  
This makes him relax, slowly and in increments, like a horse being shushed, and he says, “Marriage is union.”   
  
“Yes,” Will smiles at him a little, “Twoness becoming oneness.”   
  
“Duality unifying-  Why were you thinking of marriage, Will?”   
  
Hannibal’s elbows remain on Will’s knees, but he takes his weight off his heels now, sitting cross-legged and comfortable.  He watches Will’s face with the practiced ease of a man who has been watching Will’s face for many years.   
  
“Molly and I didn’t have that,” Will says, and he looks a little sullen, “In. . . in _marriage_ one is supposed to stop living for just oneself.  Two people become a single unit; two people begin living _for_ that unit.  And dying for it.  Twoness becoming oneness.”   
  
“Each party must make sacrifices to the unit.”   
  
“Yes,” Will cards his hand through Hannibal’s hair then, mussing it up terribly, and Hannibal growls at him a little.   
  
“If your _wife_ could not make the necessary sacrifices for you, Will, that is more than enough incentive to pay her a visit,” the words are practically scraped off of Hannibal’s tongue and he puts his hands on Will’s knee caps to squeeze them hard, like that will help get his point across.   
  
But Will just tugs on Hannibal’s hair and shuffles forward as much as he can.  He is so utterly unafraid of Hannibal now — it’s obvious in the way that he pulls harder at Hannibal’s hair so that his throat is bared and his lips curl back to show his crocodile teeth, and more so when he says, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Hannibal.”   
  
Hannibal doesn’t deign that with a response, just narrows his eyes and sifts through all the ways he’s imagined murdering Molly _fucking_ Foster.  He really hates that woman.   
  
And it must show on his face or in his eyes because Will is suddenly untangling himself from Hannibal to kneel in front of him, bed creaking and corner of his mouth quirking up in that way that makes Hannibal want to kiss him silly.   
  
He says, “I’m trying to tell you that I have that with _you_ , you ass.  I couldn’t make the sacrifices necessary; Molly made more than her fair share.  She let her kid call me _dad_ , but I couldn’t call him _son_ -” and he’s digging his fingers deeper into Hannibal’s hair, “Because he wasn’t given to me by you.”   
  
He’s looking at Hannibal with those blue eyes and Hannibal feels a riot building up in his gut.  He leans up and kisses the corner of Will’s mouth before he scrapes his teeth against it, then rubs his cheek against Will’s jaw much like a cat marking its territory with affection and scent.  It makes Will laugh, at least, his chest shaking with his soundless, huffing chortle, and he says, right into Hannibal’s ear, “Hannibal.”   
  
“Will.”   
  
“Use your words.”   
  
“I find myself lacking proper adjectives, at the moment.”   
  
“Try, at least.”   
  
Hannibal does not try at all.  He, instead, snakes his arms around Will’s waist and tips them back down onto the mattress and pillows.  Will lands underneath him with a little grunt, but Hannibal doesn’t move.  He tucks his face into Will’s neck and feels the warmth of his bare chest against his own.   
  
They don’t talk for a long time.   
  
Until Hannibal says, “You and I are just alike, William.”   
  
Will tucks his chin down to smile into Hannibal’s hair — Hannibal can feel his teeth against his scalp — and he breathes his words right into Hannibal’s mind, “Duality unified.”

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone can come up with a better fucking title for this please for the love of god let me know.


End file.
